Licentia Tripudio Secui Duos
by x.windance
Summary: Sequel to Freedom Dance;TristanOFC-takes place during the movie.You should probably read the first part of this story before this. R&R and Enjoy!
1. Extraho: Erant is non pro Memoria

**Extraho: _Erant is non pro Memoria_**

The fort at Badon Hill was quiet that night – eerily so. Dense black clouds blanketed the stars and the moon, signaling an impending storm. Fog clung to everything, muffling any noise and smothering the flames on torches until the Roman soldiers holding them resigned their posts on the walls and retired.

Inside the great hall of the fort hovered a different type of cloud; the one of tension and restlessness in every knight seated around the legendary Round Table. It had been a full month since they had been called into battle, and each could feel trouble brewing – similar to the unnatural still before a terrible storm … though in thinking, it was perhaps not caused by Woads. Since Merlin's band of warriors had completely ceased any attacks south of the Wall (those who were foolish enough to venture north had their own problems) just over a year ago, likely at _her_ request, Woad raids from the few rebel tribes who still refused to unite under Merlin had also grown increasingly rare, knowing that they would not have Merlin's support. It would be so much easier to bear the last few days of their bound service to the Roman Empire if they had something to do … people to fight …

The knight called Tristan sighed before drinking deeply from his goblet while running his hand through his thick, dark hair. It was still, to this day, very arduous to believe that she had been gone for the whole year the Woad attacks had been becoming scarce. Sometimes, her absence was a pain the likes of which he'd experienced the morning she'd disappeared, and other times it was hollowness in his heart as though her bones were already dust within the earth – which he sincerely hoped was a falsehood.

Her long, thick waves of hair that surrounded him, her luminous smile that could thaw even the coldest of hearts, her soul-piercing eyes, her courage, her passion, her conviction, her razor-edged tongue, her sweet disposition … her kiss, her touch, her love …

Oh, Eracura, he thought woefully, how I miss you.

**--------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note: **Ah, yes, the first installment of the new story. I hope you enjoyed that … kind of slow … but it's only the prologue. I promise it will get better.

This story begins a few weeks before the setting in the movie, and will continue until shortly after. Story title is temporary until I come up with something better, and I'm still in the process of editing the prequel to this story, so I'll try my very best to update this one regularly, until I get the other one fully edited, at which point I will still be trying my very best to update regularly. To all my loyal reviewers: I love you! x 10.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize from the movie _King Arthur_ is not mine. Unfortunately.


	2. I: A Tempestas Supremus

**I: _A Tempestas Supremus_**

The song of a pack of wolves rose up from the valley nestled in a mountain range, their voices hauntingly piercing through the icy, clear night air when no other creature made noise.

An unusually tall, young, gangly black wolf pricked his ears with his amber eyes illuminated by the night's full moon into eerie white orbs in its likeness, but did not respond. Long, white fingers reached out towards him, offering a strip of smoked venison which he of course would never refuse. His plumed tail stirred a cloud of dirt as he licked his chops before delicately taking it. The hand, relieved of the meat, rubbed his head between his ears.

"How can you still be hungry?" the girl asked the wolf incredulously, recalling the pheasant he'd proudly captured on their way to their campsite, and promptly proceeded to consume in its entirety not even half an hour earlier. "You're going to be so fat, Syhier."

"When you talk to him like that," said a soft voice from behind her, "I'm increasingly more convinced that you're alone _way_ too much." She spun in her seat, to see her sister walking towards her through the trees.

Kevay sat down beside Eracura, and they pulled their heavy bearskin cloaks tighter around themselves before Eracura even thought to say anything. "How did you find me?"

"Morgaine told me," Kevay said flatly.

"How did Morgaine know?"

Kevay gave Eracura a skeptical, sidelong look. "Are you serious? Morgaine knows all." At Eracura's equally cynical look, she sighed heavily and admitted, "Alright, Morgaine knew where you were because she passed by your camp on her way home."

"Did Veire get sick?" Eracura inquired. At Kevay's nod as she was gnawing on a piece of jerky, Eracura rolled her eyes. "I _told_ her she'd get sick. Didn't I tell her she'd get sick?" Kevay nodded again, and Eracura continued, "Why didn't she leave her at home?"

"You actually think that lazy swine would do anything for anyone else? Even his own daughter?"

"She could've left her with Father," Eracura said reasonably.

Kevay's voice was suddenly quiet, full of apprehension as she said, "He's got enough to worry about." Eracura had to agree. Lately, with the Saxon activity in the north, there was a lot to be concerned with. In fact, Eracura was at this moment on a particularly significant scouting expedition to estimate the odds against them, as Saxons were notoriously unmerciful.

"So where is Morgaine?" Eracura asked.

"Three miles west of the camp – or was, the last time I saw her which was about an hour ago."

Morgaine was their eldest sister, and wed to a loathsome man by the name of Caradoc, that had a tendency to fake his own illness every few weeks to worm his way out of his duties. Apparently, Caradoc's way of thinking was that if he married the headman's daughter he was ultimately exempt from … well, everything. Eracura had seriously considered killing him herself more than once, just to put him out of his misery, counterfeit or not. But, Morgaine had gained one thing from her unfortunate wedlock; a lovely young daughter by the name of Primeveire, who was almost three years old.

"So we move out at dawn?" Kevay asked, fracturing the silence that had ensued.

Eracura looked at her sister sharply. "_We_?" she echoed.

Kevay nodded. "Father thought you might need some help."

"How very perceptive of him," she stated wryly. Kevay chose not to acknowledge the sarcasm in her sister's voice, and Eracura chose not to confess that she was glad for Kevay's company. Since she'd left Tristan a year ago, she'd never felt as lonely, and with each passing day it only got worse. Even as she closed her eyes to sleep, Tristan's face seemed engraved in her eyelids.

**--------------------------------------------------**

The weak dawn sunlight cascaded through the canopy and into Eracura's eyes, waking her. She awoke slowly, reluctantly, having been indulging in a painfully realistic dream of randomly organized Tristan-related moments. Her face was buried in Syhier's musky coat, and he stirred only slightly as she sat up. Kevay was still sleeping peacefully – she had always been a heavy sleeper. In fact, Eracura had already dusted off her bearskin cloak – in which she had slept, and had packed it away, and had begun to eat before Kevay showed any sign of consciousness.

"Five more minutes …" she grumbled.

"Get up!" Eracura shouted, a smile tugging at the corners of her full mouth, as Kevay groaned and covered her eyes in protest. Eracura reached behind her to poke Kevay's side, "Up, up! Unless you don't want to eat."

That was usually the trick to get Kevay out of bed – threaten not to feed her, and it worked once more. Kevay sat bolt upright, taking a fistful of jerky from Eracura's pack of food, munching happily on one, while Eracura coaxed the others out of her hand and back into the pack. They needed to ration their food. This close to where the enemy was massing, Eracura did not want to risk a fire, lest they detect the smoke. They would be fed well upon their return home. Syhier, on the other hand, Eracura mused as the wolf himself returned from hunting with a fat jackrabbit dangling in his jaws, could eat well every day, for he was not selective when it came to eating raw food.

While waiting for him to be finished, Eracura and Kevay tidied their makeshift camp, tended and burdened their horses with their packs and their bodies. Kevay had borrowed Merlin's horse, a sturdy, pretty chestnut mare called Wimarc, but Eracura had Astolat, her gorgeous bay mare given to her by her cousin Arthur. By the time they had mounted, Syhier was finished and had joined them, and they set off to the north. Eracura was hopeful that when they finally reached the Saxon encampment there would still remain sufficient daylight to make their estimate and begin the journey home. She was prepared to travel all night in order to return home.

They ate on the move, Kevay having agreed with Eracura's desire to be home, and could finally hear the ocean on the cliffs of the northernmost shore of the island just one hour after high noon. The sound of the waves was accompanied by the constant, low hum created by the voices of men.

"Can you hear that?" Kevay asked anxiously.

Eracura nodded, maneuvering Astolat beneath a low, sturdy bough. "Stay here," she ordered, both her sister and Syhier. She pulled herself up onto the bough, climbing as high into the canopy as would support her. It was high enough that she had an only slightly inhibited view at the bare grasslands near the ocean. As she gazed down at the horrifying sight below, Eracura felt her heart nearly stop, and the blood drain from her head, making her dizzy and compromised, high in a tree as she was.

There were nearly two score men down there … _two thousand _fearsome Saxons, armed to the teeth and prepared for battle that had invaded her Britain. They were an enemy the Woads could _never_ defeat on their own, at least, not divided as they were. The Saxons would sweep through the forests and down the length of the land, killing anyone who got in their way. And the Woads would be the first to fall.

Eracura pulled in several deep breaths before sliding back down the trunk of the tree, and was pummeled with questions as soon as her feet touched the ground.

"So? How many are there? Can we defeat them? How many?" Kevay finally saw the distraught look on Eracura's face and decided to wait for a response.

"Too many," Eracura said softly, rubbing Syhier's ears before mounting Astolat once more. "Now let's go. I want to be as far away from here as possible by nightfall." She urged Astolat into a brisk trot, a pace they maintained until the fires of their camp could be seen through the thick mist of the night. Merlin greeted them as though he'd sensed their arrival. His expression mimicked their own grimness, and he ushered them into his tent after designating two kids to tend their horses. They fought for a minute over Astolat, as Wimarc was notoriously mean.

"What news?" he demanded, not wasting any time.

"Two score, at least," Eracura declared, slumping disparagingly onto the floor.

"And Einar reported at least six more additional barges – maybe another nine hundred men," Merlin said, with a weighty sigh. Eracura felt nauseous, and she lay down, covering her face with her hands. "And this is not the only troubling news. Einar returned alone."

"What?" Kevay breathed, leaning forward with her hands covering her mouth.

"Didn't Guinevere -" Eracura began to ask, sitting bolt upright.

"Yes. She was captured. But not by Saxons … by a Roman lord whose lands reside to the east of here." Eracura felt the breath knocked out of her, but was given no time to lament, for her Father was speaking once more. "You must return to the fort, Eracura. There is only one man who can unite our people."

Eracura knew immediately who he spoke of. How could she not? She firmly believed it herself. And though she dreaded returning to the fort, she knew the time had come. "Arthur."

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura did not sleep that night, but she ate heartily in the morning with her Father. She could sense his gaze on her while she ate, but she didn't say anything until it started to irritate her. She put down the roll stuffed with venison she'd been eating with a sigh.

"What?" she snapped impatiently.

He shrugged, "I've just been worried about you."

"You worry too much," she replied, taking a bite of her sandwich.

"I worry just enough," he stated.

"Why would you think that?"

"You fear seeing him again."

Eracura paused mid-bite, her stomach spinning. The blood that rushed to her head in that moment made her nauseous and her temples throb. He could read her as easily as a book, and it was a little unsettling. She put down her sandwich, swallowing hard and nodding.

"If he truly loves you, he'll have forgiven you," Merlin said reasonably.

Eracura drew in a deep breath, and said, "Father, do you remember the night before Adonis died?"

Merlin thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes."

"Do you remember when you told me that there was a last bit of beauty left in the world … but it wasn't the ocean?"

His eyes twinkled, and he gave a half-smile. "Yes."

"I understand what you meant, now … but I'm so afraid I've lost it. It's been so long …" her voice shook and her eyes stung. "Wh … what if … what if …" She let her face fall into her hands and a sob escaped her throat. Merlin's arms encircled her, stroking her back comfortingly as she tried desperately to smother her tears.

For better or for worse, she left that afternoon for the fort at Badon Hill.

**--------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note: **I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, so expect revision. I would like to send a special thank you out to _Scouter, _who has so faithfully been reviewing my chapters and being so wonderful, and also to _LoveMuse_, who only has words of encouragement. Thank you! lovelovelovelove.


	3. II: Super Reverto

**II: _Super Reverto_**

It was only by Astolat's surefootedness and conviction of their direction that Eracura even reached the fort by the time the sun was setting, and as far as Eracura was concerned, they had set a very good pace. Especially since Astolat had been forced to fight Eracura on more than one occasion when Eracura had wanted to turn the mare around to home. Upon these events, Syhier would seat himself comfortably and watch the battle of wills amusedly. But finally, Eracura's better judgment would overcome her trepidation and she would let Astolat continue on until another wave of apprehension made her hands tighten on the reins, until her knuckles turned white and the mare halted, tossing her head and whickering crossly. After a while, the mare just stopped stopping, refusing to succumb to what the mare perceived as Eracura's stupidity.

Upon first glimpse of the fort as they crested a small hillock just out of the forest, Eracura felt the oxygen squeezed out of her and her heart began to beat a rather aggressive tattoo in her chest. There was nothing on earth that could make her enjoy this feeling. Astolat danced beneath Eracura in a high-spirited, restless fashion, while Syhier had sat down and was looking up at them languidly; Eracura was under conflict with herself, and Astolat could feel it through her body. Eracura was more than willing to attempt to somehow use osmosis to communicate her thoughts on the situation to Arthur by simply staring at the fort; but that was a terrible idea, and the fact that it could never be successful made it even worse.

After a long while, in which Eracura put her lack of magical powers to the test, Astolat grew impatient and began to climb down the slope, until Eracura pulled the reins to halt her, frowning at the back of the mare's head. But Astolat was having none of her hesitation. She half reared, nearly dislodging Eracura, and surged into a determined gallop towards the gates of the fort. Eventually, Eracura relented and desisted her attempts at slowing Astolat, merely clinging to her mane so that she wouldn't slip down over her haunches.

To Eracura's supreme surprise, the Romans manning the gate didn't stop her to ask her about her name or of her business; the gates were opened automatically, and Astolat picked up speed, pock-marking the earth with her impatient hooves. Her footing wasn't even compromised as she swerved sharply on the cobblestones that led towards the barn, and skidding to a halt in front of the stall she had once been able to call her own.

Eracura, with her eyes shut tight against the reality that she had reached her destination, would not have known where she was at any particular time were it not for the noise of Astolat's hoof beats on the varying terrains; the dull pulse, like the steady beat of a heart on the dry grass; the sharp clattering on the stones; and finally, the hollow sound of the barn floor, that resounded once and ceased as the wood absorbed it. Only when Astolat had come to a firm stop did Eracura open her eyes at long last, her heart leaping. As she slid off her mare's back, she had an overwhelming urge to pinch Astolat's ears with all her might, which she only barely suppressed with the realization that she would never have made it here without her.

Grudgingly grateful, Eracura tended her well while she drank and ate her fill from the filled troughs in her stall. Syhier clambered for the same attention, which he got and received like a king, his tongue lolling and eyes rolling languorously. When Eracura had only just scooted around the front of Syhier and was beginning to groom the thick coat of his breast, his eyes were suddenly alert, his ears upright and forward, and as he looked past her his hackles rose, his lip sliding over his teeth in a silent snarl, though she could feel it bubbling in his throat.

Eracura froze mid-stroke and upon looking into Syhier's fierce amber eyes, praised whatever god it was that had enabled it so that she could see the reflection of a silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. She launched to her feet, spinning on her heel and drawing her dagger simultaneously, in one fluid movement.

But when she could truly see who the man in the doorway was, the expansive barn was suddenly only as large as the base area of one of the pillars that held up the roof. As she studied Tristan across the space between them, all that could be heard was the blood that rushed to her head and in her ears, deafening her and tempting her to faint. Her fingers were suddenly scorching hot and itching where she gripped Syhier's ruff to restrain him and her heart had all but stopped beating.

His fathomless eyes were bewildered as he stared at her, and he was as pale as the moon that illuminated his skin beneath his rugged beard and unruly dark hair. He shifted uneasily, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. His breathing was shallow, if he was breathing at all; Eracura couldn't tell. She thought for a moment that when he shifted again he was going to step towards her, but when she made to reciprocate; he turned, prowling off into the night.

Eracura felt the wind knocked out of her and she fell to her knees beside Syhier, who stuck his nose in her ear concernedly. She recoiled, glaring at him, but he ran his tongue from her chin to her hairline, and she couldn't help but offer him a terrible excuse for a smile before she buried her face in his ruff. She gritted her teeth, clenching her fists until her fingernails drew blood from her palms. She was quivering, inside and out, her temples throbbing. Her breathing was ragged and strained and reluctant.

And then once more there were footsteps at the entrance, and Eracura had a fleeting hope that perhaps Tristan had returned, which was quickly dashed and replaced with a new happiness when she looked up and saw Arthur. With a shout, Eracura leapt to her feet. There was no such encumbrance in greeting him as there had been with Tristan; she sprinted over to him and he braced himself to lift her up, laughing as he swung her through the air before setting her down.

As she grinned into his face, she couldn't help but note that beneath his mask of happiness, he looked thoroughly exhausted; drawn like a hide pulled too tight over a drum. Her smile faded, to be replaced by a look of concern, as she reached up to push a lock of his hair back into place.

"You look tired, Arthur," she stated, tracing his jaw with one finger. He caught her hand, averting his eyes.

"It has been too long since I saw you last," he said, ignoring her previous statement, and Eracura took that as a sign that he had no wish to speak of why he was so weary. She would leech it out of him sooner or later.

She nodded, squeezing his hand, "I'm sorry for not returning sooner," she said, "and I'm afraid I return now with grave news." She mentally berated herself for informing him of this, for his already gaunt face grew even more weary as he looked at her sharply. She waved her hand flippantly; "It can wait. You look troubled enough."

He did not seem entirely convinced, even as he said, "alright." After a pause, he asked, "does Tristan know you're here? He'll be so happy to see -"

Eracura smiled grimly, and placed her fingers over his lips. "He knows I'm here." She explained to Arthur what had happened only moments earlier, keeping a tight hold on her emotions to ensure that she wouldn't cry.

"You hurt him when you left," Arthur said flatly.

"Does he think it did not hurt me to leave?"

"I'm sure he doesn't think that," Arthur replied, rubbing her shoulder. "But you touched him in a place, and in a way that he has never allowed anyone else to do."

"I love him, too," she snapped.

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look up into his face, "I know," he assured her firmly. "Just give him time."

"Well, if I know Tristan, it could take forever," she sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Don't worry," Arthur crooned, pulling her into another embrace. "I'm so glad you've returned." Eracura kissed her cousin's cheek in agreement, and he secured his arm around her shoulders, sweeping her along with him to the tavern.

Lindara saw her first, even before they were fully in the light, and with a shriek she leapt from Galahad's lap and skittered over to her. Eracura was completely unprepared for the girl's collision with her, and she might have fallen backwards if Arthur still had not had his arm around her shoulders. "You're back! You're back!" Lindara repeated, almost hysterically. Galahad and Gawain, who were the next to greet her, were forced to squish Lindara between them and Eracura, as Lindara outright refused to release Eracura. Soon enough, Eracura and Lindara were enveloped by all the knights – save Tristan, Eracura noted with superlative disappointment – and Vanora. Even some of Vanora's children had joined in the festivities, and Eracura had had no relations with any of them.

Finally, the congregation dissipated, and Eracura was thrust into a seat between Arthur and Lindara, with a bowl of steaming stew in front of her and on the ground for Syhier. Her first night back at the fort was similar to her first night there, over a year ago. The men were jovial, their laughter raucous from intoxication. Yet, after every burst of laughter spurred by another one of Bors' ridiculously obscene comments, Eracura would look around table at her warm, inviting company, and saw one distinct, gaping void; Tristan.

**--------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note: **Gosh, guys, I'm so sorry about the delay, and the incredibly short chapter. I'm in the midst of completely rewriting the first part of this story, but I'll post it when I'm done this story and then all of you, my amazing reviewers, can give me your lovely opinions on whether you like the first edition or the second edition better. And when I say completely rewriting … I mean like … almost a completely new story.

I would like to thank all of the people who reviewed while you were waiting for this chapter to be posted; I just love getting all of your feedback. Buuuuut, I would especially like to thank Scouter, who is always prompt and always encouraging (how I love you), and Clara Clog, who spent three hours reading part one of this story in one sitting, and told me that it was brilliant. Thank you! I would also like to assure Lady Marek that neither Tristan, nor Eracura die. I know it's a cliché of King Arthur fanfictions to not kill off any of the characters that die in the movie … but ya. None of the characters die, least of all Eracura.

Thank you all so much! And I'll try and get the next chapter up asap.

lovelovelovelove!


	4. III: Audacia Spera

**III: Audacia Spera**

Several hours after her arrival, Eracura left the courtyard and the Knights for bed. So determined was Eracura to banish unwelcome thoughts, she'd put even Bors to shame for drinking; and now had to be escorted to a vacant chamber. Arthur, who had drunk only a little in celebration of Eracura's return, played a significant role in keeping her on her feet because she refused to be carried.

She knew that she was shamefully drunk, wobbling, slurring; but it was all so painfully amusing to them both that Arthur didn't mind the sluggish pace they moved at. Finally, what must have been a half an hour later, Arthur was opening the door to the unoccupied chamber across the hall from his and tucking Eracura in to the bed she unceremoniously fell in to. It was cold in the room, and even though Arthur didn't think Eracura would notice an earthquake, let alone a change in temperature, he started a fire in the grate to make it more hospitable. Syhier, her constant wolf-companion, stepped on to the bed and lay half on top of her, his eyes sliding shut immediately. Eracura's hands habitually buried themselves in his fur, and they sighed simultaneously.

"Are you warm?" he asked her quietly, not sure if she was still awake.

A gentle smile curved her lips and she nodded in a child-like way. "Mmmhmm!"

"Alright, then I will see you in the morning," he went to the door and stepped out in to the hallway, followed by Eracura's hoarse "Good night!" call.

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The next morning, Eracura did not want to be seeing much of anything. She would much rather have just died so that she could be in the dark and the silence _forever. _As if to spite her, the sunlight filtered through the drapes, searing her eyes. She felt as though there was a quarry in her head, and her stomach churned. She instantly regretted her night of drowning her sorrows and apprehension.

Syhier growled when the door opened, and barked when someone quietly entered. The sound reverberated in Eracura's ears, and she would have kicked him off of her bed if he had not decided to jump off to investigate the intruder. Carefully, Eracura pulled herself into a sitting position, her head throbbing and her guts swooshing in protest. Eracura was happy to see that it was Lindara, but nonetheless she was in no mood for visitors.

As if she'd heard her thoughts, Lindara said, "I expect you don't want visitors, but I've brought you something to make you feel better." She sat on the bed, holding a steaming mug and a small bowl, holding a roll and an apple.

"Thank you," she said, in a voice not her own, accepting the tea Lindara offered her. She cautiously sipped the hot tea, noticing instantly that it was spiked with a small amount of beer. She made to hand it back to Lindara, but the woman shook her head.

"It will make you feel better, I promise." She then handed over an apple and a roll and ordered her to eat. "And when you're finished, visit the bathhouse and you will feel as good as new."

"You seem very well versed in this, Lindara," Eracura teased.

Lindara raised one brow and a corner of her mouth tweaked into a small smile. "Yes, well, Vanora and I are the only two women charged with dealing with the Knights on these types of mornings."

"The only two brave enough?"

Lindara chuckled. "They can be quite boorish in the morning."

"I can only imagine."

Lindara left shortly after, promising to find something for Eracura to wear before she emerged from the baths, and Syhier followed her out. Eracura was left alone to finish her tea and apple and roll. The tea she drank gratefully; it was warm and sweet, but the apple and the roll she was more hesitant about. Even though the tea had eased her upset stomach some, she didn't know if it could withstand the food. But it did, and Lindara was right; she did feel much better afterwards. Deciding that Lindara likely knew best, Eracura made her way to the bathhouse, holding her cloak closely around her against the light and the cold, and perhaps hiding. Hiding from the man she loved, who hated her. She'd come here mainly for Tristan, and now could not decide if she could bear seeing him again. She didn't know what she'd been hoping for. A joyous reunion of two lovers, perhaps? – Him to see her, extend his arms in welcome, they embrace, he kisses her deeply and they spend all night entangled in each other's limbs?

She rolled her eyes at her own foolish fancies. She was a grown woman, not a child. A warrior, not someone who was prone to romantic notions. Temporarily bolstered by bravado, it was audible to her own self when her heart fell as she realized how much she truly loved him, and she couldn't talk herself out of it.

When she reached the bathhouse, she found it, thankfully, deserted. She was slightly tempted to bolt the door and drown herself, but ultimately chose not to. How melodramatic would that be?

She stripped off her grungy clothes and eased herself in to the warm water with a sigh. Her tension melted away gradually, and her mind emptied. Eracura was even nodding off when she was saved by Lindara's entrance, and Syhier jabbing his cold, wet nose directly in to her ear.

"Syhier!" she cried, outraged at the rude awakening. He sat down on the edge of the tub, tongue lolling, looking very proud of himself.

Lindara laughed. "He's like a little brother," she observed, and Eracura agreed, narrowing her eyes at him to show her displeasure. He didn't care. Little brother, indeed.

"I could only find men's clothes to fit you," Lindara said, placing clean, folded garments on the bench beside the tub. She had brought a dark blue tunic and fitted grey leggings a comb, and soap, which Eracura clambered for.

"Thank you! I feel disgusting after last night."

Caustically, Lindara replied, "I can't imagine why. I'm sure you out-drank everyone at the table."

"What was I thinking?" she hissed, scrubbing her hair with the delicately scented soap.

Lindara shrugged. "I imagine you were thinking about Tristan."

"I suppose I was," Eracura replied, guardedly. This was not a subject she particularly wanted to embark upon, and Lindara sensed that.

"I have some things to take care of before the Knights gather for breakfast. Arthur has requested you join them at the Round Table this morning, as soon as you are ready."

Once again Eracura was left alone. She finished washing her hair, face and body and cleaning her teeth, all the while her mind buzzing about Tristan again; how she should go about fixing this situation they found themselves in, and if it could truly be fixed. Tristan was a proud, stubborn man.

She stepped out of the tub, dried herself hastily and dressed. The tunic was slightly too big, and the leggings were slightly too short. But she covered her bare ankles with her boots and began the arduous process of combing out and then braiding heavy hair.

By this time, Syhier had become impatient and was now scratching at the door, whining softly. "I'm almost done," she told him, "Just wait." He sat immediately, looking up at her with annoyance in his dark amber eyes. She shook her head at him, pulling on her cloak, and he bounded out of the door when she opened it, running circles mischievously around her as she made her way from the bathhouse to the compound which housed the Round Table.

Though she wasn't strictly in the mood for playing, Eracura appeased her puppy by running the whole way to the main compound; him chasing her, her chasing him, bounding and leaping away from his playfully snapping jaws. As they approached the compound, Eracura slowed, breathing heavily. Feeling slightly ill as she did, she did not possess her usual stamina, and looked down at Syhier, trotting beside her. "Sorry, Syhier," she said, "You tire me out, today."

He cocked his head, and she reciprocated, and he yipped loudly, leaping in to the air. She caught him, and hauled him the rest of the way to the compound. "You lazy bugger," she chuckled into his ear. He twisted, licking her face thoroughly. Eracura decided that the reason she did not encounter any trouble with the Roman soldiers during her walk across the fort was that for the most part she'd been running, and for the last leg she had a gangly wolf in her arms, mostly hiding her face.

She entered the hall, releasing Syhier. Arthur was already at the table, as were Gawain and Bors, both indulging in a small goblet of wine to relieve their morning sickness. Eracura was partially relieved, and partially disappointed to see Tristan's seat empty. But she felt confident that he would be joining them soon, along with the others.

Gawain and Bors both greeted her in the form of grunts and groans, while Arthur smiled brightly, patting the chair next to him. Eracura took it, smiling in to his face, and was about to thank him for seeing her safely to her room last night when he said, "your sleep circles really bring out your eyes, Eracura."

She laughed and said, "I aim to please."

"I have never seen a woman so shamefully drunk in all of my life." It was Lancelot, his mouth practically upon her ear, his breath warm on her cheek. Eracura turned in her chair to look at him, and was slightly disconcerted that he didn't pull back at all. His face was but a hair's breadth from hers, his body leaning over her in a dominant fashion. "If Arthur had not escorted you to your chamber, I would have been glad to."

He waggled his brows at her, and Eracura, suppressing a smile, placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "Lancelot, there is not enough drink in all the land."

While Arthur laughed, Lancelot's eyebrows shot in to his hair line, and a broad smile lit his tired face. He stumbled backwards, hand clutching his heart. "Oh, how you wound me, fair lady!"

Eracura giggled, and her laughter was redoubled when Lancelot made to take the seat next to her, only to find it occupied by Syhier, who growled possessively. Next to enter the hall was Dagonet, who gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement but did not speak. He assumed the seat next to Bors, and proceeded to ingest the entire jug of water that was set before him. Galahad entered next, looking slightly frazzled, with Lindara, looking equally as disheveled, behind him, clutching his hand.

She blushed when he leaned in to kiss her, waved at Eracura, and then disappeared. Galahad sat beside Gawain, who looked annoyed with Galahad's beaming grin. Eracura couldn't help but smiling, even though she envied their apparent bliss.

Just as she was beginning to wonder where Tristan was, or if he was even coming for the meal, in he strolled. His head was down, his hair concealing the majority of his face, his walk languorous and prowling, like a mountain lion. He sat in between Lancelot and Dagonet, with one chair between him and Dagonet and three between him and Lancelot, who sat on Arthur's right hand side. He was directly opposite Eracura, and judging by the awkward way he looked around, hard-pressed to keep from meeting her gaze.

Finally, he did, and despite the distance between them, she could see the muscles in his jaw ticking as he clenched it. He stared at her, dead in the eye, and Eracura felt the world fall away; only she and Tristan existed. In the next instant, when he averted his gaze, everything came flooding back. She felt the wind knocked out of her, and her heart thumped so loudly in her chest she was sure Bors, who was gazing at her from across the table, could hear it.

He looked pointedly at her, then at Tristan, then back at her questioningly. She shrugged, pushing her bottom lip out slightly. He smiled, and then winked at her, eliciting a half-hearted smile.

Finally, platters of food were brought out and they were invited to help themselves. Eracura still felt a smidgeon unwell, but she was mostly hungry, and she took a roll from the tray, an apple, two boiled eggs, several slices of smoked pork and a handful of cheese.

She began eating and then noticed Syhier, gawking at her mournfully, his snout on the arm of her chair. She petted his head, and reached for a two more rolls, a hunk of cheese and a handful of the pork, placing it in front of him. True to form, Syhier wolfed it down, and Eracura gave him some more.

After Eracura had eaten her fill, Arthur leaned in towards her and said, "When you arrived yesterday, you told me you had some grim news." She looked at him with wide eyes, not terribly keen to inform him of the dire situation her people now faced. "Will you tell me now? It's been bothering me all night."

Eracura swallowed a mouthful of water, cleared her throat and twisted in her chair to look him full in the face. "The Saxons are invading." She had hoped that only Arthur could hear, but Lancelot's ears were keen, and he immediately stopped eating, turning to give her his full attention.

"What?" he choked out, "I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

"There is a Saxon invasion beginning in the north," she repeated.

"Are you certain?" Arthur said.

Eracura nodded. "Yes. I've seen their army with my own eyes." Relating the story, she felt a similar feeling of fear welling within as she had had when she'd first seen it.

"How many?" Lancelot asked, and just as Eracura was about to open her mouth to respond, Bors shouted from across the table.

"Telling secrets over there?"

Eracura immediately looked down in to her lap, while Arthur answered him. "Not a secret for long, Bors. The Saxons are invading the island."

"Really?" he asked gruffly.

Eracura nodded, as Arthur said, "Yes. Eracura has seen it."

"How many?" Galahad asked.

"At least two thousand men," Eracura said.

There was silence for a moment, and then Bors slammed down his tankard of water with a broad grin plastered on his face. "Well, Bishop Germanius will be here within the month with our discharge papers, and we'll be long gone from this cursed island before the Saxons can cause us any trouble!"

"Hear, hear!" Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad shouted.

Eracura was taken aback, shocked really. She did not say anything, did not look at anyone, and felt as if she were frozen. A ringing began in her ears, quietly at first, until the sound began to make her nauseous. And then, Arthur broke through her reverie, saying, "You'll come with us, won't you, Eracura?"

Frowning, she looked in to his face, and it only irked her more to see him smiling down at her. "No," she coldly, "No, I will not." Slowly, she stood. "This is my home. I cannot so easily abandon my country and my family as you appear to be able to." She made to leave, but Arthur called her name, pleadingly. She whipped around, angry tears sprouting in her eyes. "No! What other home have any of you known, besides this place? You have lived here for the majority of your lives. You have loved on this island, and poured your blood into this land! How can you so easily abandon it to a new imperialistic army?" Hastily, she wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "No. No. I see now that my hopes have no grounds. Both reasons why I returned –" here, she looked pointedly at Tristan, and then at Arthur "- I have been given no reason to remain for." She gave a curt bow to the Knights, spun on her heel and took her leave of the Knights, Syhier at her side.

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A/N: Did you think I'd forgotten you? I haven't. And I have no excuse for allowing you, my lovely readers, to wait for so long. Please accept my apologies. I would like to thank every single one of my beautiful reviewers, who took the time to read my stories. I love you! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I PROMISE to update more frequently now that my interest has been re-piqued in this story. Please review, with feedback, and I really appreciate your support!

xoxoxoxoxox!!!!!!!!!!


	5. IV: Promissio

**IV: Promissio**

As soon as Bors opened his fat mouth, expressing the fact that there was no need for any of them to worry; that they would be long gone before any threat found them, Tristan wanted to punch him to shut him up. He had looked over at Eracura's face, her beautiful face, and saw her go pale in resentment. His heart squeezed in his chest at the hurt in her eyes as she described that her hopes for her return had dissolved. The silence in the hall resounded. Her voice, choked with anger and disappointment, still echoed in his ears.

And then she'd left, possibly never to return. Should he follow her? He glanced around the room, regarding everyone's faces. Their desolate expressions mirrored his own inner feelings. As his gaze passed over the Round Table, his eyes caught the faces of Lindara and Vanora, who stood at the kitchen doorway, arms folded, brows furrowed. Lindara met his eyes evenly, her brown eyes boring in to his. She shook her head at him, clearly disapproving, and then disappeared in to the kitchen, unable even to summon the words to berate him.

Vanora, however, had no such qualms. As Lindara left, Vanora burst in to the room, cheeks flaming. "You know she's right!" she hissed at them.

"Be quiet, woman!" Bors barked.

"No, I will not be quiet! You know she's right. This is as much your home as your memories of where you came from, which are foggy at best!" Silence met her words, and after a moment, Vanora finally turned her frustration on Tristan. "And you! You proud man! Are you going to go after her, or just sit there like a dope?"

Tristan, like a scolded child, consented immediately, rising hastily and very nearly sprinting out of the hall. Vanora's words may have spurred him to action, but he could feel every fiber of himself pushing him onward.

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Eracura stormed out of the hall, blinded by furious tears. Her heart was choking her, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her face, hiding her tear-stained cheeks, and in absolutely no mood to be confronted by leering, antagonistic Romans.

Though she had nothing to take from her chamber, she found herself standing within. Hot tears streamed over her cheeks and she was shaking like a leaf in a gale. Apprehensively, Syhier pushed his snout in to her palm, licking her fingers to comfort her. Petting his head and breathing deeply, she felt herself calm, if only slightly. She looked around the room, and seeing none of her belongings, decided that now would be the best time to depart. Momentarily, she wondered why she'd even come back here, and then decided that she hadn't been thinking clearly enough to know that she hadn't been settled here, and there was nothing to tie her here. A sob tore from her throat and she collapsed to her knees, burying her face in Syhier's shoulder. Tristan no longer wanted her, and saving her country and her people was hopeless; Arthur and the Knights were intent on deserting her precious Britain. Her chest felt hollow, despite the painful, constant throb of her heart.

Breathing deeply, she managed once more to reign in her rampant emotions. Syhier's musky scent was somehow soothing, the sound of his heart beat and the air in his lungs keeping her centered. She wiped her face on his coat, and sat back on her haunches to look into his eyes. He licked her face, but the gesture was a dour sort of comfort; Eracura saw her own sadness reflected in his eyes.

She sighed and stood, wiping her face again on the sleeve of her cloak, and then pulled her door open. She stepped in to the hallway, and was brought up short by Tristan, hovering in the doorway. Her stomach jumped and her pulse accelerated at she looked up in to his face. He looked remorseful, and slightly frightened at the look in her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Can we talk?" he said softly.

"What is there to talk about?"

He hesitated a moment, as Eracura stared at him expectantly. Finally, he blurted, "Please don't leave, Eracura."

Eracura felt tears threaten once more, and she quickly averted her gaze to disguise them. "There is nothing for me here."

"Nothing? What of me?" Her eyebrows bent in to a frown, and she glowered up at him.

"You seemed very glad to see me, that is true," she replied acerbically.

He grabbed her by the shoulders in a firm grip, pushing her back in to the room. "You left me, Eracura! In the middle of the night, without a goodbye! I had no idea if I would ever see you again, if you wanted to see me again, if you were even alive!" He shook her once, and then released her. He slammed the door shut and prowled the room for a moment, combing his huge hands through his hair. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and her pulse leapt again at that familiar gesture. When he turned to face her once more, his cheeks were flushed. 'When I saw you in the barn, last night, it was like looking at a ghost."

"You knew I had to leave," she said softly.

He glared at her. "You did not have to leave. You left out of a selfish concern for your own well-being. We would have protected you. _I _would have protected you."

"Selfish?" she hissed, "How _dare_ you, Tristan! _I _was protecting _you_ by leaving. You would have been killed right alongside me for defending me!"

"That was a risk I was willing to take."

"I didn't want to let you risk your life for me."

"Why?" he said, his voice soft now, his eyes sad.

"Do you really not know why, Tristan? Why I could not stand to see you die because of me?" He stood there, looking helpless and vulnerable. He shrugged, and Eracura closed the distance between them, twisting the collar of his tunic into her fingers. "Because I love you, Tristan. _I love you_."

He stared in to her eyes for a moment, and then advanced upon her, until she was flush against the wall. His mouth descended upon hers, and he was kissing her, kissing her with all the ferocity of those long months of waiting; waiting for this exact moment when he could hold her in his arms again. He pressed his body against hers, until she could feel all of him, and his hands roved over hers, frantically almost. Eracura clung to his shoulders wantonly, kissing him back with all of her might, until his lips left hers, trailing over her jaw to her throat, leaving Eracura gasping for air.

He pulled away momentarily, pulling off his tunic hastily. His hands slipped beneath her tunic, and he kissed her deeply before removing it, discarding it too. Her fingers roved over his torso salaciously, as his hands caressed her until she was mad with desire.

He stooped and lifted her, not once breaking their kiss, and transported her to the bed. He sat down upon it, standing her in front of him so as to remove her breeches. She kicked them aside, her fingers fumbling with the strings of his. She pushed him back on to the bed, tugging his breeches down, and then hovering over him, her lips skimmed over his throat, his shoulders, his chest, working their way lower, over his abdomen, until they lingered near his groin. With a strangled groan, he grasped a handful of her hair, urging her upwards by it, until once more his mouth was upon hers, her thighs framing his hips. And with one smooth thrust, he was within her, filling her, completing her.

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Their lovemaking was all Eracura had been hoping for their reunion, and as she lay in Tristan's arms afterwards she felt a sense of bliss and peace wash over her. She had forgotten entirely about the danger that faced her people, and knew only this space where Tristan's body lay next to hers, his heat enveloping her. He was stroking her skin absently, and when he stopped, Eracura looked up into his face.

They were so close that when he spoke, his lips brushed hers ever so slightly. "Will you stay?"

She didn't even hesitate to nod. "Yes. Until you are discharged, I will stay."

Tristan smiled and kissed her. "Then I pray I am never discharged."

She punched him fondly in the ribs. "Don't you dare say that!"

He caught her wrist and positioned her so that she lay mostly on top of him, and said, "I want to be where you are."

Not daring to hope, though she felt it flutter in her chest, she said, cautiously, "After you are discharged, where will you go?"

He bent his neck so that he was looking in to her eyes as he said, "Wherever you choose to lead, my fair lady."

She smiled, but then decided that it would be a good idea to ruin the moment with; "I lead the way to battle, and perhaps death. I cannot ask you to fight."

He touched her hair fondly, twirling a curl around his finger. "I would rather die by your side than live without you."

Good old Tristan, always able to turn the tables, for better or worse. She grinned, squeezed him tightly and kissed his sternum. She turned her head, and closed her eyes. Gradually, listening to his steady breathing, which slowed and deepened as he drifted off to sleep, and his strong heart beat, lulled her to sleep.

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When they finally awoke, it was close to noon, and Tristan was forced to hastily dress and tend to his afternoon chores. He kissed her swiftly on the mouth, and regarded her longingly before dashing out of the door. Syhier, displaced from his resting place in their nest of discarded clothing, crawled up on to the bed to cuddle with Eracura.

Eracura sighed in contentment, absentmindedly stroking Syhier's long body. Tristan was going to stay with her. The thought once more brought a smile to her lips. How lucky she was to have a man such as Tristan, how wonderful –

"Eracura!" Lindara burst in to the room, and Syhier lunged from the bed, growling viciously.

"Syhier!" Eracura called him back, pulling the furs around herself. Syhier looked at her, waved his tail, and licked Lindara's palm before returning to Eracura's side. Eracura then looked up in to Lindara's face, to see a great measure of urgency and excitement in her eyes. "What?" she said, scooting herself to the edge of the bed. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"There's someone here for you!" Lindara said excitedly. As an afterthought, she added, "someone like you."

Eracura's brow furrowed in confusion. "Someone like me?" she wondered. "A Woad?"

Lindara nodded, and then began to describe the visitor. "She's tall, but not as tall as you, with long blonde hair."

Eracura's stomach flipped, and she began to hastily dress. If it was indeed Kevay, which she guessed it was, what on earth was she doing here? What was she thinking, risking her life, traveling alone to a Roman fort? Cursing beneath her breath, Eracura followed Lindara's lead to the entrance courtyard, where her suspicions were confirmed. She first saw Wimarc, her Father's chestnut mare, flanked by three Roman soldiers, and then Kevay, clearly cowering but valiantly attempting to summon her best look of defiance.

"Kevay!" Eracura cried out, and Kevay spun on her heel, a look of immense relief spanning her lovely face. She plunged headlong in to Eracura's embrace, and just as one of the Roman soldiers was about to confront Eracura, an authoritative voice rang out.

"What is going on here?" It was Arthur, and now it was Eracura's turn to feel relief. So far, she had not encountered any difficulties with the Romans, and did not wish to begin here and now. But she could tell, by the disdainful and suspicious way the slowly approaching guard surveyed her that a problem had arisen. But it would be saved for later, and avoided altogether if Eracura had her way. She fixed the guard, a young man with a lanky frame, a distinctive aquiline nose and dark blond hair, with a warning glare, and then turned sharply away, towards Arthur.

"My sister," Eracura said, by way of explanation, "Kevay."

Kevay grudgingly offered her hand for Arthur to shake, having been too young the last time they would have met to remember it. Reinforcing this, Arthur said, "You were very young last time we met." He spoke to her in the way one might speak to a small child or a spirited horse, but Kevay didn't seem to mind. She looked as though she needed a soothing voice at the moment.

"Yes, I know. But we are cousins?"

He nodded, smiling. "Yes we are. Not distant in our blood, but distant nonetheless." He shook her hand, and then spontaneously pulled her in to a one-armed hug, which she returned, awkwardly. When he released her, he cleared his throat, carefully avoiding Eracura's snide gaze. Addressing the Roman guards, he said, "These two women are my guests, and will be treated with due respect." He nodded curtly to Eracura, smiled at Kevay, and took his leave. Eracura watched him go resentfully.

As the Romans dispersed, Lindara charged them, assaulting Kevay. "My name is Lindara; I am a friend of Eracura's." Uncertainly, Kevay offered her hand, introducing herself as Eracura's sister, but found herself once more embraced. As Lindara gushed about how glad she was to meet her, Eracura gathered Wimarc's reins and led the way to the barn, Lindara and Kevay following. Poor Kevay; so much attention.

"So, what brings you to Fort Badon?" Lindara queried, and as the answer to this question was of some interest to Eracura as well, she repeated the question.

"Yes, what are you doing here, Kevay?"

Kevay shrugged, flushing slightly. "I was tired of waiting around for news."

Eracura frowned. "I've only been gone one day," she said incredulously.

"You get to have all the fun, while I have to sit at home with Father, Veire and Morgaine," Kevay retorted.

At this, Eracura looked from Kevay to Lindara, back to Kevay. "Yes, it would have been great fun if you had been killed instead of detained while someone found me; or what if no one had come to find me at all?"

"But that didn't –"

"But it could have."

"When did you become my Mother, Eracura?" Kevay snapped.

Taken aback, Eracura did not immediately reply, only gave Kevay a sharp look that made her blush with shame. Instead of continuing to lecture her, Eracura offered a smile. "I am glad you're here."

Kevay returned her smile and said, "Me too."

By this point, they had reached the barn, and Eracura volunteered to tend to Wimarc while Lindara proposed to give Kevay a tour of the fort. Eracura was glad for Lindara's friendship, and knew that Kevay would be too. Kevay needed a friend her own age, who was different than those she was typically used to. When they left, Syhier assumed his usual position at her side, and for once, Wimarc took no notice of him. Generally, she was not his friend.

Soon, Eracura's solitude was interrupted by Lancelot, who entered the barn saying, "Eracura! What is this I hear of your sister being at the fort?" He leaned against the stall door, leering at her.

Eracura gave him a sidelong smile and said, "Word travels quickly around here."

Lancelot nodded. "I spoke with Arthur. Is it true?"

Eracura turned to fully face him, and nodded. "Yes, it is."

"Does she look anything like you?"

"She's blonde." Eracura replied flatly.

Lancelot frowned thoughtfully, nodding. "I could work with that."

"I'd prefer if you didn't," Eracura said, "She needs someone she can rely on. Not someone who will love her for the time it suits him to do so, and then leave for something better, whether it be another woman or a piece of paper."

Lancelot's mouth fell slack, and indignation gradually took the place of shock on his face. "That's not fair."

Eracura shrugged. "Life isn't fair."

Lancelot folded his arms over his chest and said, "You're right. Life isn't fair. Is it fair that you expect us to remain here and fight for a land that isn't our own? Is it fair that you're holding it against us now?"

Eracura opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She imagined that she resembled a fish out of water, groping for a retort to defend her position. Finally, she simply said, "Fine, I suppose I have no right to hold it against you. But when it comes time for you to leave, you'll realize that this land you have fought so hard to defend has come to mean more to you than you care to admit."

With that, she climbed over the stall door, Syhier crawling underneath, and left.

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A/N:


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